Parallel Thoughts
by suzjazz
Summary: This is the mental dialog that takes place in Lisbon's and Jane's heads after Silver Wings of Time. It might go past just being a one-shot if I can bear to write any more after Forest Green. I do not own the mentalist.


This is the mental dialog that takes place in Lisbon's and Jane's heads after Silver Wings of Time. It might go past just being a one-shot if I can bear to write any more after Forest Green. I do not own the mentalist.

**Lisbon**

I've really done it now. _Really done it._

It's a heady feeling, I've got to admit. A man who isn't shy about saying and showing he loves me. When has that _ever_ happened? Not even with Greg. And that was a long time ago.

Marcus could have any woman he wanted, but he chose me. And I'm more than flattered. I mean, I really like him, he's nice, sexy, honest, smart…

…though not as smart as Jane. And not as sexy, if _I'm _being honest with myself. Hell, I haven't even been to bed with Jane, and he makes me weak whenever I'm around him. I'm afraid Marcus isn't in the same league. But he's a very good lover. He'll do.

Honest. There's that word, it keeps cropping up. Because isn't that the most important thing? Don't you need a partner you can trust? And honestly, have I _ever _been able to trust Jane? Maybe it's not his fault. He was raised from a child to be a con artist. Lying is his first language. Even though he anded up hating it so much that he left the carney circuit with Angela. I think Jane wants to be honest but he doesn't know how. There have been times I really thought…I wish I could stop remembering the time he fake shot me and said "Love you." He actually said, "Good luck, Teresa. Love you." I never understood the "Good luck" but there was no mistaking his meaning in the "Love you." But was it the "love you" a brother says to a sister, or one friend says to another? Or did it mean something much deeper? I've been trying to parse this for four years now. And then when I asked him if he meant it, he pretended not to remember. That lie made me furious. It still makes me furious. Mr. Memory Palace not remembering the most important words a man can say to a woman?

Of course, he could have meant it and still not be ready to move on. He still wears the ring! What am I supposed to think? _Twelve_ years after the tragedy. The tragedy. I still hurt for him because of that. There's nothing worse that could happen to a man than to lose his wife and child. Most men would nevertheless be ready to move on in a couple of years or so. But Jane never allowed himself to grieve. Instead, he put all of his feelings into revenge. And there was something else: his love for his wife was so profound that he probably thought that it would be disloyal to her memory to just move on. Jane has murdered two people and committed a dozen other crimes, but he has the ability to love deeply. He's no sociopath. No one knows this but me. I think even Cho, Grace, and Wayne probably think he's a sociopath. But I know better.

I don't know if God forgives me for forgiving Jane's sins, but isn't that what Jesus did? If I can forgive him for murder, then why can't I forgive him for lying to me? Because I can't. Taking me for granted, trying to control my life by making me a "demand" as if I were a thing instead of a person-those things are bad enough, but the lies and the deception? When I thought that day in Malibu that he meant what he said and he hugged me-I really thought he was going to kiss me but there was still some boundary line that he couldn't cross. And what does he do? Steals my keys and phone while he's hugging me. And then tells me he has something for me. My cop instincts are down, and I can't believe he'll pull the oldest trick in the book. But he drives away leaving me stranded. And he still hasn't apologized face to face for that. I don't care that he was trying to protect me, and I admit that I might have been killed if I'd followed him into that house, but it still makes me just livid when I think about it. So I try not to.

He fled the country after killing Red John without saying goodbye. I suppose he thought it was kinder to me that way because he never expected to see me again. And it was all about him, of course-he had to escape capture. Not that I blame him for that. I was relieved that he'd escaped the FBI even though I hated the idea of him being a fugitive.

Two years. Two years gone. At least he wrote to me. But it gave me false hopes. And never did he say "I love you" in any of the letters. I must have read those letters hundreds of times, trying to interpret each word, searching for evidence that he loved me. But all I could get from it was that he cared for me like a sister or best friend and didn't want me to worry about him. It hurts me so much. He must know how I feel about him. He can read me like a book, can't he?

But enough about Jane. He's a lost cause. I'm lucky that Marcus found me. I wasn't even looking, and there he was. Like a stray dog on my doorstep, though Marcus is anything but stray. He's a well-respected member of the FBI community, and good at his job (though I'm not sure he would have gotten those art thieves without Jane) He's calm and cool, not a hothead, not a controller, and he's _not_ a liar. At least I don't think he is. There are _some_ honest people in the world, after all. Lying doesn't come naturally to me, no matter what I told Jane about how I could put up a front. What I need is a man who has trouble lying, too.

I admit that there are some things I still need to know about Marcus-we haven't talked much about his past or what he wants out of life (besides me) We haven't had any really important talks yet. It's still early for that. And I have to admit that I'm not crazy about French restaurants, places you have to dress up to go to in general. Although a tiny part of me likes wearing a black dress and heels for a man. I could even have enjoyed those undercover outfits that Jane picked out

if I could have sat down more, and if I didn't have to display more cleavage than a stripper! God, I felt naked, all those men staring at my breasts. It was awful. Jane knows I hate that. Why did he put me through it? I know why. It's all about him. _He _wanted to see me in the sexiest possible outfit-awful four inch heels and all.

But Marcus doesn't know all this stuff that Jane knows about me. I'm glad. I'm so relieved that he can't get inside my head. That I can retain at least _some_ mystery. And he's trying to please me-how could he know that fancy places are just not me? He wants me to have the best he can give me. He'll learn without me telling him that I like pizza and beer better than fine wine and filet mignon.

Take that, Jane! You never thought that anyone would want me like Marcus does.

But...

The look in Jane's eyes when he told me I was beautiful. You can't fake that. And then he looked so sad when he hoped we'd have a good time. He's trying to be happy for me. I'm really afraid now that he does love me in that way. I was trying to ignore the signs since he came back, but now I can't ignore it. I'm feeling terrible, and those eyes just won't go away. I'll be seeing them all through dinner with Marcus. And after, too, probably.

Problem is, Jane isn't coming forward. He's not fighting for me. Just threw in the towel right away because he thinks Marcus is a better man than he is (and he might be right) I can't wait for him forever and he knows it. _Why _won't he say anything? Why is he being a martyr and only saying nice things? Because it has to be an act. His eyes were the eyes of a man who has given up, a man resigned to misery the rest of his life. I know he loves me, but he has to make the first move. And honestly, I don't know what I'd do if he made me choose between them.

Because Marcus is predictable, and Jane is a loose cannon. And always will be. I don't like surprises. Well, only the good kind. And with Jane, it's been too often the bad kind. Predictable can turn into boring, but unpredictable can make me crazy. Couldn't they both be one man with only the good qualities of each?

All I know is, I'm not thinking about Jane tonight. I'm having a good time with Marcus. Which is easy, because I know what to expect. I deserve to have a life. And if it has to be without Jane, then so be it.

**Jane**

She didn't hear me say goodnight.

She can't see what I'm feeling. But she senses it.

What I really want to do right now is get so drunk that I can't even think anymore. Maybe I'll fall asleep and be free of pain for a while. But I'll probably dream about Teresa.

Teresa! When I first said that name, it felt like a magic word, a talisman that would save me. Because that first day at the CBI, I cold read her. I felt her empathy for me and her outrage about Red John. I knew she wanted to help me even if it meant bending the rules, and I could tell that she always obeyed the rules. Good Catholic school girl, though I knew she didn't wear the cross for that-it had personal meaning, someone gave it to her…

And sure enough, she was there like an angel after that bastard hit me in the face and I was covered with blood. She wiped it off my face and helped me to walk. How ironic that almost a decade later I would be wiping blood off her face-not hers, thank god. But the vile mark of Red John. He could have killed her that night. I felt the same way I felt when I saw my darlings dead and bloody. The worst feeling I ever experienced. Happening again. When I heard that hateful voice on the phone using her beautiful name: "Teresa can't come to the phone…"

I can't bear to remember that. I wonder if she remembers or cares that I sat at her bedside all night. I wonder if she remembers the time I shot a man who could have led me to Red John because I had to save her life and I didn't think twice. Does she remember the time she had a bomb strapped to her body and I wouldn't leave her no matter how much she yelled at me? She doesn't want to be saved, and she'll fight fiercely anyone who tries it. Pike'll find that out soon enough.

And just who the hell is he? Some agent on the art squad-excuse me if I laugh at the mere idea of an FBI art squad-some guy who couldn't get those thieves without _my_ plan. But it doesn't matter now. He's won. And he's a better man. He's not as smart as me, but he can read her better than I can. He knows that what hurts her the most is that I have lied to her and deceived her for years, so he's bending over backwards to be Mr. Honest. And he probably doesn't have to try. I haven't spent enough time around him to get a good read, so I have no idea if it's real or an act. He better not hurt her. I hope he knows what I did to Red John. No…I hope he doesn't. Could use it against me. Now I'm getting paranoid. This is literally driving me insane.

How did I turn into this weakling guy who can't even compete for the woman he loves? Can't even say to her, _Teresa, you don't love him. You love me._ Can't even tell her how I would give anything to change history and take back the things I said and did so that she would trust me. Because I don't have a clue how to make her trust me. What, the smartest guy in the room, the guy who comes up with elaborate schemes to foil an art heist and to save a man from death row? And I can't for the life of me think of a plan that will make her trust me. Trust is probably the hardest thing to restore once it's gone. And have I _ever _been honest with her? Before tonight? Yes. I said she looked great in that hat and that I was cheerful because I got to sit next to her on a beautiful day. But she never even took off her sunglasses. She didn't believe me.

The way she looked when she tried to sneak past me to get her purse from her desk-I've never seen such perfect loveliness. And sexy without wearing a low-cut dress. The lines of that black dress really show off her …I'd better stop this train of thought. It'll only make me more miserable. She knew I wasn't asleep-why did she tiptoe past? And when I said, "You look beautiful," she said "Don't start," implying that I didn't mean it or was teasing her. This really hurt. She really can't see that I mean it. But she smiled a little in spite of herself. I couldn't see her face when she turned to leave for her date. But I can't believe that she's really happy. He'll probably pull out all the stops to impress her tonight. He doesn't even know that he doesn't have to work so hard at it-she'd be just as happy at the local burger joint.

I don't think she's happy, but she doesn't mind wearing a dress and uncomfortable heels for him. She never stopped complaining about the clothes I chose for her. It's true, I chose them for her, and she sees that as controlling. She knows I picked what I wanted to see her in, not what she would have chosen. I guess Pike and I are the same-he read her wrong on restaurants and I read her wrong on dresses. We each chose what we wanted for her. I guess it must be a male thing. Whatever it is, he's brilliant at it and I'm a zero in her book right now.

I can't think straight because I'm so upset. I'm not just hurt and sad; I'm angry at both of them. Her more than him, because how can I blame him for falling for her? I'm angry at myself for not having a plan. Or just for not having the guts to blurt it out to her and let the chips fall where they may. No, I am controlling and secretive. I have to be the puppetmaster even when I'm in love, I can't let my feelings be known. Especially now. But why? What am I afraid of? That he'll challenge me to a duel? Seriously? I'm not afraid of him-I'm afraid of her. What I fear most is that she'll say, _I care for you Jane, but I've decided to be with Marcus. You'll always be my friend. _And I'm afraid she might mean it. It wouldn't be so bad if she was lying-and she can't lie worth a damn so I'd know-because then I'd at least have a chance.

A chance. Do I still even have a chance? How did they get so serious so fast? Next thing you know, he'll be proposing to her. She'd laugh in my face if I proposed to her. If he proposes, I've lost her. She'll accept. And maybe he'd be the best thing for her. But one day she'll wake up and realize that he bores her and that she's still in love with me. And it'll be too late because by then I'll have…no! not going there. Not ever. It would destroy her. She would never be happy again. And she would hate me forever for doing it. No. She stopped me from doing it, just the thought of her inconsolable stopped me. And I can't tell her.

What if I wrote my feelings in a letter? But this time say "I'm in love with you" in big letters so she can't misinterpret it. No. I have to tell her in person. I need to man up, as Cho would tell me if he wasn't so busy staying out of this. I have to do something. If it makes me more devastated than I am now, it's a risk I have to take.

Teresa. Don't leave me. Teresa. I'm coming for you.


End file.
